Tuesday, 2 January 2018

Poem

I and You in my dreams I and You I wake at and in fear. Rat. 
Look at the fucking sky, and for some reason, this looking... 
Or, it wasn't. I whisper into the pillow: "You, to a dear friend, did",
"He did this", "He has violent tendencies", "He came into my friend's house and..." 
"Will you ever shut up?" "I think he has a diagnosis"
“How can we reach out to him?”, “What of when we meet again.”
“But what would happen to him there?” or “What gives me the right
to speak out, into the pillow” or “To demand a stronger door
is to demand a weaker self” or “it would betray the internal organs” etc. 

How your feminisation kink pukes us - that the centre of shame’s
my assimilated death. To reduce yourself. When I'm coming out of a house 
feeling afraid and the sea, the greying screed, churn churn. Rat plop. 
Somehow there's so little to say. The borders screwed to the sea to land
where formals rest & chuck, exit & sink. Restitution ‘eyes only for…’
Your ethics, a detention centre. The framework: Holed in lie sneer.
What have you done? Where were you when it happened?. But past 
the disclosure, a sea, just that, rat. We go into rooms with abusers. Thump.

We go into rooms because we’re not moralistic, and we try 
and we try and we total & fail. We say "such a violent history he had" 
against ourselves. We don't. We don't comprehend the hurt 
beyond its hilt. We try to listen; it's impossible to. The spirit is impossible, 
departed from his lips as he groaned out. As he clutched my throat 
he groaned out. To hear what you say. Made as: etc. No morals at all. 

When you ingest the bleach you retain a fantasy of clearing, unclogging,
that beneath the fix, when you gulp or swill it round for Christ sake. Ratty. 
But if you’re one of those, Those that have cast certain into abjection, 
or extended abjection out into each corner. Each forgetful corner, here is
your number. I will be quiet. You're not in danger. Everything will continue
to be part of what's okay for you to not try to remember. "If you throw 
the first punch you are as bad as your oppressor
                                                                        states the routinely unoppressed
          :report. 

No comments:

Post a Comment